


Big Bad Wolf

by Anonymous



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, a romantic morning tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24814153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alois insists on having their morning tea in the grass. Alois also insists, Claude thinks, on provoking the worst in man and demon alike.(In which Claude is incapable of controlling himself.)
Relationships: Claude Faustus/Alois Trancy
Kudos: 42
Collections: Anonymous





	Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> The type of fluff I desire for this pairing does not exist so I write my own.

Sitting next to his companion on the dewy grass, Alois can’t help but let out a laugh, grin wide and tilt his head back so that the bright morning sun hits his freckled face. He feels elated, having woken up in a good mood for the first time in well over a week, and it seems as though his body is bubbling with nervous energy. And Claude can’t help but reach a steady hand out to tuck a stray strand of cornsilk hair behind his lord’s ear. It was Alois’ wish to have his morning tea on the hillside by the estate. It was also Alois’ wish that they should sit in the grass and enjoy the fresh spring air. He allowed Claude to pick out a spot, one that would offer the best view and adequate shade if the sunlight became too strong. Of course, Claude did not think twice to situate them in a spot that would also allow them the most amount of privacy, lest any stray gardener of a nearby estate wander towards them and witness the inappropriate conduct that the butler is sure to exhibit.

After nearly a week of minimal physical contact between the two of them due to an impromptu visit by Alois’ dearest younger cousin from Switzerland, the demon can’t help but feel quite touch starved. Alois himself would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how miserable Claude looked being forced to sit on a chaise opposite him every single day of the two week long ordeal. 

Now, though, under the shade of a cherry tree, the boy is quite eager to lounge in the grass and lean back, rest his weight on his elbows and look up. He squints his eyes at the bright sunrays spilling between the leaves and branches above. Claude’s hand stays in his hair, strokes his cheek ever so gently. Then, when he notices the boy give a smug smile in response to the gesture, he leans over, grabs one of his thighs with a broad hand and gives it a squeeze as he attaches himself to his lord’s neck. Alois lets out a small yelp, then erupts in a light and airy giggle. He tips his head back further to allow the demon easier access to the skin of his neck and collar, reaches a small hand up to undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

Claude liberally kisses and bites angry red marks into the boy’s skin, his teeth pressing down hard enough that Alois thinks his butler could very easily take a bite of him. If he were to touch his neck and his hand were to come away covered in his own blood, he wouldn’t be surprised. The Trancy boy feeds off the attention, even when it is painful.

“I hope your cousin,” Claude says, voice low as he inhales deeply, lips red from sucking marks into his master's pale skin, “does not visit us again for at least another six months.”

Alois can only let out a breathy laugh in response, threading his hands through his partner’s hair as he pulls him up to kiss him properly. He gives him gentle pecks once, twice, three times before kissing him deeply, wrapping his arms around Claude’s neck and pulling him forward as he leans back to lie down in the grass. Claude makes quick work of all the buttons of Alois’ vest, and then he begins to fiddle with the smaller, rounded buttons of his shirt. Once he’s less than halfway done, he stops, lets himself drink the view of the boy beneath him, his eyes red and intense with hunger. Alois Trancy, half-lying in the grass, wild-eyed and eager, slowly lifts a dainty hand up to move his disheveled hair from his eyes. An absolute delight.

“If you’re going to act like this,” Alois says, feigning flippancy, “I might be inclined to invite her back as quickly as possible,” though his face grows red from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and his pale blue eyes balefully look up at him. Those eyes always betray him.

Almost instinctively, despite his embarrassment, the boy spreads his knees apart. He flings a leg over and hooks it behind Claude, pulling the man closer to himself. If the butler were to think too long about the delightful terror and rot that lies within his small master, the angry wound that makes the boy splay himself open like that for even a shred of affection, he would grow too hungry to resist ripping Alois to shreds right there. Despite his best efforts, he can’t stifle the smile and low sigh of approval his boy’s small gesture urges out of him. This is enough validation to cause Alois' face to light up in an eager grin. His light, half-buttoned shirt falls off his shoulder, reveals another unmarked expanse of skin for his demon to worship and bruise.

Claude dips back down to bite the juncture between Alois’ neck and shoulder. Then, he reaches a greedy hand down to grab his boy’s soft thigh again, digs his fingers into the skin hard enough to leave little bruises. How delightful it would be, Claude thinks, to tear his lamb apart right there, eat all the evil and rotten within him, to not leave anything behind for the birds. And Alois, ever the treat, would revel in it, would see it for the act of devotion and desire that it is.

For now, though, Claude trails kisses up the boy’s neck, along his jawline and to his lips. He feeds hot want into his boy. Or does Alois feed it to him? Does Alois’ soft tongue poison him with it? For whenever he comes close to his young master, he feels his restraint falter. He kisses him for ages, deep and languid. The heel of the boy’s shoe digs into his back as Alois pulls him closer.

“Are you going to fuck me, Claude, or do I have to beg?” the boy says, incredulous. Claude can’t help the low growl that comes out of him, can’t help the way his eyes grow an even more intense scarlet. Those eyes always betray him. And there, in the grass, beneath the warm sun, Claude can’t help but wonder: who is hunting whom? Which of them devours the other whole?


End file.
